


Reyes Vidal Regrets

by WriterSine



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Bisexual Character, But not enough that I felt it deserved a tag in the relationship tag, Contains major spoilers for the game, Elderly Character, F/M, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Kadara, Sara is dead, Slight discussions of end of life care, So people are dealing with it, There is slight implied Reyes Vidal/Scott Ryder, mentions of aging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 12:18:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13434588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterSine/pseuds/WriterSine
Summary: It's the end of an era. Pathfinder Sara Ryder is dead.An old charlatan thinks back about the woman he knew and how their paths diverged.





	Reyes Vidal Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Michelle Magly for beta reading and giving me feedback.

Reyes is glad he’s sitting down when the news comes. Pathfinder Sara Ryder is dead.

Some shock must show on his face because Tasine asks, “Papa, you okay?”

He smiles gently up at her. “Of course, it’s just hard to believe she’s gone. It’s the end of an era, you know.”

“You can say that again, people are in shock. They’re talking about having memorials across the cluster,” Tasine says, consulting the newsfeed running across her terminal screen. “It says she died in her sleep just after her one-hundred and twenty-first birthday.”

“A good end. The best one can hope for.” The words emerge, conciliatory in tone, from a constricted throat. His right hand curls into a fist. About to press it to his sternum, Reyes forces himself to relax when Tasine turns her large, brown eyes on him.

“Is that what you want?” she asks. The pale blue, curved tattoos across her eyebrows and the thin half circle connecting them furrow. This is not the first time in recent years they have tripped along the edge of this conversation. It haunts every birthday they share. His life is ending just as hers begins.  _ Perhaps now is the time? _ Reyes wonders.

“Yes,” he says. Then, because a lifelong habit of prevaricating is hard to break, even with his daughter, Reyes smiles and adds, “Even if it’s not what I deserve.”

“Because you’re wicked?” She smiles a little in return. “And the wicked rarely get what they deserve?”

“Only if they’re good at it,” he replies.

Tasine laughs and goes back to her terminal. But Reyes feels the smile fading from his face. He braces one hand on the arm of the sofa and the other on his knee, surging to his feet with a grunt. “I’m going to get some air.”

As he passes her, Tasine looks up. “But, we still have more of the day’s business and reports to go over.”

He has never walked out on their meetings before, unless something urgent came up.  _ This is why we haven’t talked about my death yet,  _ Reyes realizes _. _ Tasine is nearly eighty years old. However, sometimes when she looks at him, all he sees is the small, hungry-eyed asari child who stole into his private room at Tartarus after her mother blew her money on oblivion. Starting with his siblings, sick grandmother, and working mother, Reyes had seen his share of pinched faces. He remembers how it felt when there wasn’t enough rice or meat for everyone to eat their fill. That night Reyes let Tasine stay for dinner, only to discover he was her father. A discrete genetic test confirmed she was telling the truth. Overnight and five years late, Reyes became someone very mundane, but to Tasine, even more important than the Charlatan. Even now, he is loathe to take that from her. 

Reyes reaches out and brushes his knuckles against her dark indigo cheek. “I know I can rely on your judgement, mija. But, if there’s anything you’re uncertain about, set it aside. I’ll go over it later.”

Her expression firms with determination. “Alright, Papa.” 

As he walks down a hall to a private balcony, he remembers Sara and thinks,  _ Later. I speak as if I’ll always have the time.  _

The balcony overlooks the rooftops and narrow, crooked streets of Lower Kadara, as most call it now. Reyes leans on the railing and stares out at the place he will always think of as the Slums. Parts of it are still full of seedy nightclubs, drug dens, and homeless squats. Tartarus still stands, though in a different building, he and Tasine conduct business there sometimes. The soup kitchen he started is still here too. 

In the distance he hears the telltale sound of a geyser spouting water. It is thanks to the Pathfinder that they no longer drink an acidic soup. It amused him at first, to see her move through toxic, tangled Kadara with frustration and determination. Sloane Kelley had had brutality; he possessed finesse; but Sara had been sincere. It had surprised him when Vehn Terev, content to sulk until Sloane took his head, left with the Resistance operatives after one conversation with Sara. 

As she blew through the port and badlands like the tempest her ship was named for, reports came back to him through Collective contacts. Sara searched the port to find an angara woman’s sister who died while performing maintenance in the ducts. She scoured body dumps to collect the IDs of murder victims so that records of their deaths would be made. But Reyes had not only heard of her sincerity, he had seen and felt it too. He closes his eyes, remembering back to the evening of Sloane’s final party.

~~~

_ He passes her the bottle of whiskey and leans forward, elbows on his knees, watching the people move around the port below. The sun is setting over the mountain, a light breeze blowing some of the stink away. Over the distant hubbub he can hear Sara’s heels tapping lightly against the shipping crate on which they sit. The whiskey sloshes as she takes a drink.  _

_ “What about you? Why did you come here, Reyes?” she asks, breaking their companionable silence. _

_ Perhaps it is because they have consumed three quarters of the vintage. Perhaps it is because she is seated with her back to him and cannot see his face. Reyes does not tell her his whole story. However, he does tell her the truth. “To be someone.” _

_ She shifts her seat on the crate. He looks up as she sets the bottle behind them. Kadara’s sunset gilds her brown hair. She touches his cheek and he can feel her warmth through the thin leather gloves. “You’re someone to me,” she says and kisses him.  _

_ Like their first kiss, back in one of the Outcasts’s storerooms, this one is unplanned, at least on his part. The first was sloppy and a little wild with the thrill of being ‘caught’ by one of Sloane’s goons. This second kiss is sweeter, unrushed. Reyes responds as readily as he did in the storeroom, always quick on the uptake. His hand sliding around her waist as he kisses her back. She tastes like the Mount Milgrom, like treasure. _

_ When they part, he touches her cheek and says, “I’m starting to think that kiss was more than just a distraction.” _

_ Sara smiles up at him, expression open and guileless. When she came to Kadara, Reyes made himself indispensable to her. She was an unknown quantity, an agent of change. He needed to know if that change could work in his favor. As Pathfinder, Sara has her own goals, but pursues them openly. It surprises him to be the recipient of that honesty, determination, and compassion.  _

_ Reyes kisses her and Sara melts into his arms. Any doubts about continuing to conceal his identity as the Charlatan are gone. _

~~~

Reyes rubs the heel of his hand against his sternum, trying to ease the tight, aching feeling of suppressed sobs. _ A “good” end.  _ The memory of his words to Tasine are mocking now. 

Sara was good, not always nice, but good. She did good all over the cluster in large and small ways. The longer he was with her, the more Reyes had felt as if he too could be good. A ridiculous notion. The Charlatan was not--is not--good. Even so, he had decided that perhaps Sara could be his goodness. 

Now she is dead. Reyes takes several shuddering breaths and wipes the tears from his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He braces both hands on the railing, clenching it in a way his joints will regret later. 

“SAM, you damned AI”, he whispers, voice fierce. “How could you let this happen?”

~~~

Several weeks later, the newly opened park in East Ditaeon is packed with people. At its center is a shrouded statue. Beside the statue is a platform and podium. Seated there are the mayor of Ditaeon, the Kadara Port Authority, and their guests of honor: Scott Ryder and his nephew Naj Ama Darav.

Reyes sits near the stage with members of the Collective dressed in civvies, their weapons tucked out of sight. There hasn’t been an attempt on his life in nine years. However, nowadays, more people know he is the Charlatan than when he first came to power in Kadara.

Tasine is here too with her own security detail. After an attack on them both thirty years ago, when he nearly died of blood loss and a ruptured spleen, they try not to appear in public at the same time. If they must then it’s separately. 

The dedication of Pathfinder Park is not something anyone on Kadara would miss. HNS is here specifically to broadcast the event live for those who could not pack themselves into the public space. Many of the people near the stage are wealthy businesspeople, politicians, or powerful officials. They sit with solemn, dignified expressions wearing clothes that tread the line between fancy and tasteful. Reyes glances over his shoulder. Behind the chairs set up for the Kadara elite stand throngs of people from Ditaeon and the Port. Small children sit on their parent’s shoulders. A few people are watching the stage with binoculars. Others stare up at the large monitors set up around the park. 

The mayor of Ditaeon walks to the podium and Reyes faces forward. The crowd falls silent. “Thank you all for attending today,” the mayor says. “This is a special, if sad day. It’s no exaggeration to say that life on Kadara is not without its challenges. But it’s also fair to say that life as we know it would not be possible without the heroic efforts of one woman. Our Kadara would never have become the vibrant center of mining and trade without Sara Ryder.” She pauses a moment. “Like other communities across the cluster, we are deeply saddened by her loss. The opening of this new park is only a small gesture of our gratitude. Though this gesture could never fully express how much we honor the Pathfinder’s memory.” She pauses again, her head lowered.

_ Don’t belabor it _ , Reyes thinks.  _ Just get to the dedication. We’re not here to listen to you. _ He had thrown support behind this mayor, guaranteeing her election, because she was practical, not too greedy, and paid attention to the conditions of the workers. She just likes the sound of her own voice a little too much.

As if she can hear his thoughts, the mayor glances to where Scott and his nephew sit. “We are also truly grateful to be joined by Pathfinder Ryder’s brother and son. Our hearts go out to you during this trying time. Kadara mourns with you.”

Scott is staring at the shrouded statue, his expression introspective, and does not respond. Naj Ama Darav nods once, his mouth a tight line. 

The mayor turns back to the crowd. “I now dedicate this public park to Pathfinder Sara Ryder. May her memory be a guiding light to progress.” 

Reyes resists the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he watches as two workers tug on the thin ropes wrapped around the statue. The shroud falls away revealing Sara’s figure carved from Kadara’s native stone. He squints at it. When he got wind of the plans for this park, Reyes discovered that they planned on using the soft, crumbly stone that is most common on Kadara. It’s cheap, in every sense of the word. After a word here and a small bribe there, the original plans were scrapped in favor of a statue from the basalt. Still a native stone, but harder to work; it will weather well. 

Sara stands in her iconic Heleus Champion armor. Her helmet is tucked under one arm. She wears a pistol by her side. Her left hand is raised and resting in the palm is a miniature of Meridian. Her head is held high, gazing into the west. 

A smattering of applause passes through the crowd. When it subsides the mayor announces that the Pathfinder’s son will say a few words. Reyes drags his gaze from Sara’s face to the face of her son. Naj Ama Darav is reserved-looking man in his early eighties, if Reyes remembers correctly. The first human to lead the Havarl delegation to the Heleus Galactic Council. He is one of her four natural children. Reyes can see Sara in her son’s blue eyes and the shape of his nose. He has her coloring too, though his brown hair is starting to gray. 

Naj speaks about Sara’s example and tells a story about one of her missions on Kadara. It’s a very nice one about finding and helping some exiles reestablish contact and reconcile with the Nexus.

Reyes lets the words wash over him and turns his attention back to Sara’s statue. His thoughts turn to his own son. Like Tasine, Huan was an accident. One he learned of just before Liling got on a shuttle bound for Eos. She hadn’t wanted anything from him because she intended that the baby be raised right. Liling never knew he was the Charlatan, only that his connections were not completely legal. At the time, it had only been twelve years since Tasine came to him. Reyes was happy to let Liling go. Though he still keeps tabs on them, discreetly. Six months after Huan was born, Liling married a farmer who raised Huan as their own child.

At the time, Reyes convinced himself that it was better that way. Tasine is a child of Kadara, her life would never be normal. Though, he is certain, that by being together, Reyes has made her life better. But there will never room for the Charlatan in the life of a farmer’s son. 

Huan became a farmer as well. Living on a large farm with his wife and children. His oldest is expecting her first child. Another descendant Reyes will never meet. 

Naj concludes his speech and the mayor rises to make her closing remarks. Reyes watches shafts of sunlight and shadow play across Sara’s face. 

He hopes the baby will be a girl.

~~~

Reyes sits on a bench in the brand new Pathfinder Park watching the fading sunlight slide up Sara’s statue. His security detail are arrayed around the park, out of sight. After the speeches were over and the chairs and podium removed, he returned, found a bench, and settled in to wait. The park had bustled with people coming to gawk or pay their respects. 

The base of the statue is shadowed, throwing the glow of the candles into sharper relief. There are many, some secular, some in glasses with a saint or the virgin Mary on them. They illuminate the heaps of offerings. There are enough flowers for a garden, most in bouquets but some planted in pots: Kadara poppies,  _ muaava _ from Aya, Terran lilies, and Thessian orchids. Reyes watched people leave handfuls of pebbles and scraps of Rem-tech. There are a few shrines. One with a picture of Sara from forty years ago with an offering of pink soda. Another glows with candles, a tablet full of turian writing, and a stick of incense. Scents tickle his nose: sandalwood, vanilla, myrrh, and cedar; and others he can’t name that seem almost too pungent and foreign to be fragrant. There are cards, some in envelopes with Sara’s name or simply “Pathfinder” written on the front. Others stand open. There are a few signs too. From his vantage point, Reyes can read two of them: “RIP” and “Gracias Pathfinder”.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a man approaching his bench. Reyes doesn’t turn his attention away from the offerings until Scott stands beside him. 

“When you weren’t at Tartarus, I figured I’d find you here,” Scott says, sinking down onto the bench with a soft sigh. He shifts the bottle between them closer to Reyes who takes it and sets it on his other side.

“Thanks for coming,” Reyes replies. “It must be hard.”

“It is and it isn’t. Someone had to help with the goodbye tour. The others are doing their part, on the Nexus, at Havarl and Aya and Meridian. Naj is used to the circus but he didn’t want to do it alone,” Scott says, crossing his legs at the knee.

They turn their gazes to the shadowed statue. Only Sara’s head and shoulders are illuminated now. 

“I wonder how long it’ll take for someone to graffiti it,” Scott says.

Reyes glances at him. Scott’s tone is dry and there was a wry twist to his mouth, but his gaze has that haunted, unseeing look he wore during the unveiling ceremony. It makes him look older, more tired.

“Indefinitely, if I have anything to say about it,” he replies. If Scott fails to mask his sorrow with humor, Reyes also fails to hide his vehemence. 

True amusement tugs at the corners of Scott’s mouth. He puts a hand on Reyes’s knee and squeezes it. “I know Sara would appreciate it too.”

Because Scott is Sara’s twin, Reyes decides to believe that statement and take comfort from it. “It’s the least I can do,” he says, voice quiet.

“That reminds me,” Scott says, taking his hand away. He uncrosses his legs and sits up. “I wanted to see you, but I figured you would want to talk to SAM too.”

He opens his omni-tool and presses a few buttons. “Hello, Mr. Vidal,” SAM says. 

“Hello, SAM,” Reyes replies, barely reining in the renewed ferocity.

“Scott suggested you would have some questions about Sara’s final moments. It appears he was right.”

“You’re damn right. What the hell happened?” Reyes snaps. 

“On the thirtieth of March 2940 CE at 4:35 AM, Sara suffered a brain aneurysm and died.”

Reyes’s hands clench into knobbly fists. He would punch SAM, provided the AI had a physical body, rheumatoid arthritis bedamned. “And why didn’t you do anything? Or alert Jaal, or anyone else so they might have helped her?” he asks, teeth gritted.

SAM’s reply is immediate and matter-of-fact:  “Because Sara asked me not to.”

Anguish spikes through Reyes’s chest, and for a moment it feels like he can’t breathe. He presses a fist to his sternum, rubbing it with the heel of his hand. 

Scott’s shoulders slump and Reyes glances at him. His expression is mournful but unsurprised. He meets Reyes’s gaze. “You remember how interfacing with the Remnant put both of us out of commission for a while after that mess with the Archon? Well, Sara had to do a lot more of that without SAM than I did. She healed faster because of her unfettered connection to SAM but it still scarred her brain.”

“Sara’s body underwent a great deal of stress during her tenure as Pathfinder. Even with many of the medical advances the Initiative brought with them from the Milky Way, the average life expectancy of the colonists is still not what it would have been due to the affect of the Scourge on Heleus. Shortly after turning one hundred and ten, it became apparent that the damage to her body was ‘coming due’,” SAM says.

“Sara had two strokes in the last four years,” Scott adds, his voice dull.

Reyes turns his head away as if the words are a blow. Nevertheless he replies, “But you could still have helped with that, SAM.”

“Indeed. After the second stroke she came to me on SAM node to discuss what should be done in the event her health continued to fail. She requested that, should she experience a major and immediate organ failure, I should not take steps to revive her.”

“And what did Jaal think when he woke up and realized you let his wife die?” Reyes retorts, pretending he can’t see Scott turn his face away.

“Jaal was- is heartbroken,” SAM says, voice subdued. 

In the pause following that statement, Reyes feels some of his anger disappear.  _ Aren’t we all? Even you _ , he thinks. 

Before he can say anything SAM continues, “He understands, however, that Sara did not want prolonged end of life care. In the end, it was the pair of them who talked me into abiding with Sara’s wishes.” There’s another pause, then SAM says, “It was harder than I expected. After Alec died, Sara explained that death, of oneself and one’s loved ones, is a natural part of living. I thought I had accepted this, but we were partners for many years. I was not as well-prepared for her loss as I thought. I regret that I will no longer be able to make new memories with her.”

“We all do, SAM,” Scott says, his voice is a little rough but his tone is kind.

“Thank you, Scott. It is reassuring to know that I am not alone,” SAM says.

Scott looks at Reyes. “Was there anything else you wanted to know?” he asks, his tone is just as kind as before. Now that his anger is gone, Reyes feels like an ass. 

“No, thank you SAM,” he says, leaning forward, elbows braced on his knees and hands clasped. 

“You are welcome, Mr. Vidal,” SAM replies. The orange glow of the omni-tool goes dark.

Scott puts a hand on his shoulder. They watch the last of the sunlight disappear, leaving the park and Sara’s statue in twilight. 

As lamps flicker to life around them, Scott says, “I should get back to the hotel. Do you want to join me?” His hand leaves Reyes’s shoulder.

Reyes takes a deep breath, releases it, and sits up. “I’m sorry, but not tonight. I need to talk to my daughter about something.” He turns to Scott. “I  _ will _ come to see you before you leave Kadara, my friend.”

Scott smiles, his trimmed silver beard twitching. “Naj and I are at the Ditaeon Arms, ambassador’s suite. But, I’m guessing you knew that already?”

“I have my ways,” Reyes replies with a quick grin. 

They stand and hug, clapping one another on the back. When Scott makes no immediate move to let go, Reyes allows the embrace to linger. At last he pulls away, and pats Scott’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, Scott,” is all he can think to say. 

Scott’s gaze drops and he swallows. “Me too.” He pauses, then smiles, his eyes wistful. “It happens to the best of us, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

They say their goodbyes and Reyes calls up two of his security to escort Scott back to his hotel. Once Scott disappears from sight, Reyes picks up the bottle and walks toward Sara’s statue.

There are some discreet spotlights at the base, illuminating it. Reyes opens the bottle and shakes it gently. Liquid sloshes and the smell of alcohol wafts to his nose. There’s just enough left for two. He takes a swig of the Mount Milgrom. The whiskey burning and warming as it slides down his throat.

Because this is Kadara, Reyes steps forward and pours the last of the the whiskey onto the base of the statue. Then he tucks the empty bottle in with the other offerings, between two bundles of flowers.

Reyes steps back and gazes up at Sara’s face. Perhaps it is because she can no longer see him; or perhaps it is because the opportunity passed him by decades ago. He tells her the truth. 

“I love you,” Reyes says, voice soft. Then he turns and walks away. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is story crept into my mind after finishing the Kadara storyline and Reyes's identity was revealed and wouldn't leave me alone. If you want some extra feelings, here's a couple of songs: "I Wanna Go Back" by Eddie Money and "Sara" by Starship. I basically listened to them on repeat while writing this.
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Please drop me a line and let me know what you think.


End file.
